


"At Least I'm Doing Something"

by Sangfroid_Sorrow



Category: Marble Hornets
Genre: Angst, Depression, Dissociation, Drug Use, Morbid, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 16:17:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11256543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sangfroid_Sorrow/pseuds/Sangfroid_Sorrow
Summary: Jay is lifeless. When things go wrong, it revives him. He thinks maybe he just wants to die.“I don’t remember what I did before all this happened-- at least now, I guess, I’m… doing something." - Entry 75





	"At Least I'm Doing Something"

 

_“I don’t remember what I did before all this happened.”_

_“It wasn’t that long ago.”_

_“No. Well— I do remember that I was living in a crappy apartment by myself doing **nothing**. At least now, I guess, I’m… doing something.”_

_\- 75_

 

It starts from as far back as he can remember, when he was three-years-old and didn’t want to talk to the other kids. He hid behind his mother’s legs, holding on for dear life, but she pried him away. She told him to ‘go and make friends’. He hid in the corner until the day ended.

 

Jay’s bright enough but this,  _lying_ , is his first and only talent. Anything else needed to be learned. The teachers copped on pretty fast that he was about as disinterested in them as they were in him, and it made it easier to ignore the Merrick boy. He decided he preferred it that way.

 

He was five when his mother returned from a parent-teacher meeting, heading straight into the kitchen without so much as greeting him. Through the doorframe he was able to watch as she slumped over and cradled her head in her hands. He later overheard that ‘none of the other mothers knew who Jay was’, and then, quieter, that ‘none of the teachers did either’. Jay didn’t let it affect him. He didn’t know how to.

 

At nine he grew ill, remaining bedridden for weeks. When he was finally sent back to school it was as though he’d never been gone. No one had noticed his absence, and the teacher never even looked up as she read ‘Jay Merrick’ from the roll— like his name was just a titleholder for empty space. He was treated like a ghost, as if he had never gotten better... or as though he'd never been alive in the first place.

 

Even as he aged, things didn’t change. He was thirteen when he first began to wonder whether he actually existed. He was fourteen when he wished that he didn’t. At fifteen, his parents found pills under his mattress and asked him, _begged him_ , what was wrong.

 

He told them ‘nothing’ and turned away. It was the truth, even if it made his mother cry.

 

It was when he turned sixteen that he stopped imagining different ways to die, and turned his focus to more exciting things. Jay learned that he loved the high of adrenaline— so much that he could _live off it_.

 

He did.

 

By seventeen it had seemed like his only choice, as though death or constant dying were the only two paths for him. He took drugs from dirty needles and sniffed powder off of stranger’s arms. Often, he’d dopily announce that he was feeling ‘unreal’, and people would laugh out smoke around him. He would black out then, waking up in an alley with his pockets empty.

 

Jay met Alex Kralie when he was eighteen and he’s glad Alex doesn’t remember that night. The man had been dead-drunk on some Randy’s porch, aggressively staring through the opening of his bottle. The world must’ve seemed distorted through the green glass so he had turned to Jay, who really just wanted to leave, and asked something horrible.

 

“Hey man,” he’d called with a heavy slur. “Are you— are you real?”

 

The man seemed genuinely unsure and maybe Jay should have assured him, promised the stranger that yes, he was indeed real. But he didn’t. Instead, he only stared.

 

“I don’t know,” Jay said eventually. He sat down on the porch beside him, sighing. He wasn’t drunk enough for this.

 

Alex clearly was. “Holy fuck,” he said, blinking too much through his glasses. “I’ve never been this drunk. Or drunk, full-stop.” Then, under his breath, “oh _shit_. I’m hallucinating.”

 

“… Why did you drink so much?”

 

“Well. I need to make a lasting first impression.”

 

“How does— never-mind. Does that even matter?” Jay asked, confused. “I mean, if it takes getting so pissed is it worth it?”

 

The man shook his head like Jay just didn’t get it. “I’m gonna be remembered. Someday, I’m going down in history.”

 

“For being the drunkest guy at some party?”

 

“If that’s what it takes.”

 

“I’ll remember you,” Jay grumbled an hour later as the other man rattled off his address. He lived nearby— he guessed was only fair to give the guy a ride home. “But you better damn well remember me after all this.”

 

Alex woke up the next morning with a killer headache and no recollection of what had happened. He slipped into the seat beside Jay’s during Film Studies that evening, listened from one word from the teacher, and groaned, “just let me die.”

 

Jay laughed like it was funny and Alex decided to keep him around. 

 

Sometimes Jay used to think they could have been so similar. Alex reminded him of the hope he’d once had as a kid, that one day people would _notice_ him. That they’d care. But Alex wanted more than that.

 

He wanted to ‘make it big’ and maybe dreams like that are addictive, because years later Jay agreed to help him with his first indie feature. He was the so-called script supervisor which meant... nothing.

 

Jay took the title, though. It was useless, but at least when the credits rolled it would be there— right next to his name. It felt a bit like graffiti, as if he was leaving his mark on something that wasn’t his.

 

He didn’t care. It was a sign that he was there. That he existed.

 

“You’re a real friend,” Alex told him on sleepless nights, in front of raw footage and rewritten scenes. The man had realised pretty quickly that those were the words that dug at Jay, clawing under his skin and affecting him like nothing else could. Alex abused the four words like it gave him power.

 

And Jay loved it.

 

Things changed, then. Phone calls started coming at two in the morning, complaining of strange noises and shadows around the house. Alex stopped sleeping or showering and the movie began to suffer for it. The actors, who Jay usually didn’t take notice of, obviously didn’t appreciate the inconvenience.

 

They left the set early one day, and Jay knew it was over. One of them hung back and slipped him a piece of paper with his number on it. ‘ _Call me – Tim’._ He doubted the attractive actor was flirting with him, though. Jay had noticed how the guy watched him, a kind of understanding in his eyes, and the way he said ‘thank you’ for every little thing. As if assuring Jay that he was really helping.

 

As if Jay really mattered.

 

He didn’t call the number. In fact, as reality dawned on him, he tore it up. There were no actors, the director was a lost cause… his name was never going in those damned credits.

 

It was pathetic-- he _knew_ that -- but he crumpled. Back against the wall, shaking with tearless sobs, Jay Merrick stopped existing.

 

The next day he convinced Alex to give him the tapes. He needed them, for all those behind-the-scenes moments where his arm came into frame or when his voice offered to help out with something. There was no room for them in the closet so he threw away all the things he’d left there since leaving home: photo albums, participation awards and memorabilia.

 

To anyone else, this would have been a grave mistake. But keeping those tapes was the best choice Jay thinks he’s ever made. Now each day feels like it could be his last and there’s always _someone_ out there, watching. Alex is gone, people are dying, his home has been destroyed. He doubts he’ll even make it to thirty. 

 

 **But at least he’s doing something,** and he’s never felt so alive.

**Author's Note:**

> More rushed than usual, apologies. Wanted to get it out for the Hornetversary. 
> 
> Jay always strikes me as kind of sad. Like, he loses his home and any friends he ever had 'before' but he just doesn't seem to care. At least, not to a normal extent. It's like he's kind of numb-- like he's always been kind of numb. He seeks out dangers and thrills with nothing but a flashlight for as long as he can, because that's all he has left.
> 
> In contrast to the other characters, he never really affects anything. He tries so hard but, for all his efforts, it's still like he doesn't exist.


End file.
